


Seconds left to live

by affectionateConfections



Series: Shit lets be the Striders [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Blood Warnings, Demonstuck, Dreams and Nightmares, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, Reverse Demonstuck, Violence, implied johndave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectionateConfections/pseuds/affectionateConfections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never thought that nightmares could be so vivid. Usually you could tell the difference between an illusion your brain made up versus reality, but this pact certainly made sure you were left in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seconds left to live

**Author's Note:**

> jeezuz i haven't written anything in a long while, but demonstuck really had me on edge so i did a drabble based off of it. hope there aren't TOO many typos (ahh at the time there is just too much shit in my drafting so i wanna get this stuff out quickly) :') enjoy

In your the corner of your eye you catch his arm moving more quickly than you can react.  


The smile you have falls just as your gaze and confidence does, and your ruby red eyes witness a color that once was the equivalent to its vibrant hue. Blood, black and full of demonic sludge coats the surface of a piece of silver in a hand that didn't belong to you. Your gaze trails back to Bro and your eyes widen with pure shock and disbelief when you see an expression that is all but full of unspoken glee. The numbness that once plagued you was gone as pain ends up rocking your body, where your abdomen sizzled around the skin burning into ash from the silver-coated blade. No, no, no, nononono, you had him! You fucking had him!

Your body trembles from the stress, brow creasing while you begin to seethe at Dirk's elation. The large amount of control you once held began to bleed out with the rest of your pride, triumph and ambition as you attempt to stumble back, but you're still too slow.

Dirk rips the dagger out of your stomach, whips his arm around and with terrifying precision, sends the blade slicing through the flesh of your throat that had loomed too close. The only thing you can do is gag before he flicks his wrist again and your vision is suddenly black and full of stars that you'd never thought you'd see. Panic and pain floods in as quickly as blood leaves your body, and you cry out like an injured animal caught in a trap. The adrenaline didn't kick in as fast as you expected, as all you can do is try to step away and try retreat before you get even more hurt--

It didn't work either, and that comes to you as quick as a hand hits the top of your head and rams it into the ground, mind suddenly cracking under stress and thoughts a wild river of chaos. You feel the rip in your throat widen, your pale skin tearing as your body thrashes on its own accord.

It's when fingers push into the hole of your throat, dip into the steaming pool of blood and tighten around the already torn veins makes you screech. It's when they clench around the soiled ends and knots and jerk the fist back, peeling them raw and snapped makes you try wail out your distress with a voice almost completely useless as it's garbled into the thick, hot blood flowing and boiling out of your mouth. _You're fucked._

The impact of reality hits you harshly, you're all alone and all you can do is act out of sheer impulse with a weakened, pained body struggling under a single grip holding your head to the ground. You can barely detect another weight apply itself to the center of your body, pressing your stomach more firmly to the cold ground and you cry out again. The next few moments are agonizingly slow, the person above you watching with hawk-like amber eyes and just watching you bleed out and try, attempt, and fail at struggling out of it. Your cries are reduced to rasps of pain and ultimately useless gusts of air just forcing more blood to dribble down your chin.

Your Bro is just watching you die. He's watching the life bleed out of you and you can hear the triumphant chuckles echo through your brain and he betrayed you, he fucking betrayed you and all you could do is try to stop yourself from losing more blood to his hand.

Your limbs slow to a stop, coming more closely to your body as one of your hands reach over and hold the wound in your stomach. The coolness of your own touch sends a numbing sensation up through it, and your body trembles to it. With the little scraps of strength you gathered up over just breathing, forcing air out of your nose and your chest to move up and down, you force a finger into the slit-like hole of the wound. The cool numbness travels further, and you try so, so hard just to focus on those shreds of relief instead of the white hot pain and the throbbing in your head and throat as the blood blocks any airflow through your mouth.

Dirk suddenly seizes your arm and jerks it up, flipping your body in that instant and onto your back. You only moan in protest, the sound only popping out of air bubbles crawling to the surface of the thick red river trickling out of your mouth. Your eyes manage to peel apart in that moment, revealing nothing but a familiar face that you want to slice apart.

You meet his stare, unable to process anything but the kaleidoscopic supernova suddenly flashing in your vision as it attempts to project proper images. Colors you didn't even think existed seemed to blend in with the pool that swathed in a glaze over your eyes. Sparks flew and danced, tiny little voids swirling in with the mix and forming dull grays to pop out against all of the color. Your chest attempts to stutter in tune with the sparks and the movement, a tiny noise in the back of your head growing in pitch and volume. You could barely manage to focus on anything but that sound and the glaze over your eyes. Not the wounds, the bleeding, Dirk, nothing but them. It was serene.

It reminded you of clockwork. Yes, clockwork would be a proper way to describe it, the staccato and fleeting appearance so in tune, steady and precise. Enough to make it sound like the ticking of seconds. The seconds you had left to live.

You can vaguely make out movement through the the presentation, a flash of a blade you knew all too well but you weren't paying attention to it. You wanted nothing more than to be in tune with the steady ticking, follow its beat until it all but vanished and took you along with it.

As the knife plunges into your skull you find yourself unable to process the pain, it was too much and you suddenly feel yourself falling. The first thing you can register is the forced sway in your balance, gravity pulling your limp body to its nether but you're too weak to try and stand, to try and open your eyes. Was this what it felt like to die? Those stories of people falling to hell or ascending to heaven all peaceful and calm as you're retrieved?

But you're not rising. You knew that all too well. Instead you were plummeting to the ground, hitting barriers over and over but somehow never touching anything but an empty void. Your fingers attempt to twitch, but you find your limbs denying your will. You know you're gonna fall into the fiery seven circles, but you want to cast your last praise to God for his numbing mercy on your way there. Come on ...

Your eyes finally have the will to try opening, try to catch a glimpse of your surroundings while the time was ripe for the taking. A heavy weight squeezes them shut, and in your feeble attempts to hold them away you suddenly felt a change.

"Dave?"

Your back suddenly hits concrete and the weight in your eyelids vanish.

 

Your name is Dave Strider and you've never felt so fucking terrified in your life. The first thing you register is your heart, practically leaping out of your chest and sending waves of nausea into your throat. Your gag reflex acts upon realization, as you attempt to breathe properly you feel your stomach twist. You find yourself doubling over, without a care in the world about what the hell you were even doing as bile thrusts its way painfully up through your throat. That's when you feel a hand on your back. "Hey, it's okay."

That didn't sound like Dirk. Nonetheless your skin jumps, and the pressure forces more vomit to slide out of your mouth and collide with the ground below your bowed head. The noises you create are utterly pitiful, until they're reduced to whimpers you would soon cringe at. In response, the hand on your back begins to move, rubbing and stroking the skin between your shoulders but you only stiffen and force your eyes open.

The sight that greets you is oddly familiar, a concerned face and bright eyes radiating an ocean blue hue. They meet your gaze for only a second before another set of fingers caress your cheek.

This time you have the sense to at least flinch away from the touch, but even more so is the urge to press against boy sitting beside you. His fingers move forward again, and now it seemed to soothe away the rock-hard tension in your face. You could feel sweat rub away along with with his touch, and instead of staying where he was he suddenly leaned forward and enveloped you into a hug. 

As your face presses against a stone-cold chest with no beat of the heart, your memories cut into your brain again.

John. It was John. He was trying to comfort you. You've been hunting this demon for weeks and he was right in front of you, in your reach, making you feel better.

The urge to crush your body against his overpowered you within the second of him beginning to run a hand through your hair. Your arms whip around to latch onto his sides, fingers crushing into him like leeches on skin. John isn't disgusted with your actions, nor did he react the way you would've expected him to and you felt so, so happy he didn't. You clung to him like he was your very own life support, and all he does is scratch gently at your scalp, ease the tension from your shoulders. You somehow can't believe you used to hunt him.

 

Yeah, you used to be hunting him. You remember, remember that you had formed a pact with him. You _used_ to be Bro's partner, even. 

By the time you'll ever see him again you're going to be a demon yourself and he's going to kill ...you. But it didn't matter whether he saw you or not, he's already seen who's side you've switched to now. Oh god, no. Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god,

 

_You're fucked._

In that moment the pressure building up in your chest is let loose, vocalized into wet sobbing and sending tears rushing through your eyes. Your body gives up trying to hold it in, your fears and insecurities knotted together into an ugly ball that had poisoned you for so long. You let it go. You push yourself closer to him, sounds of shame and years of built up stress mixing in with the disgusting sounds that rattled out of you. He was all you had left.

John suddenly creates noises as well, quiet shushing and cooing meeting your ears and somehow calming the surface of you down a little more. "It's okay, it's okay it was a nightmare," he chants, over and over but your mind keeps saying the contrary, it isn't fucking okay and you're going to die. You're going to fucking die and he's going to kill you, Bro is going to kill you again and again and again until you're finally sent back into the firing abyss of hell and left to rot for eons by the hands of your own brother and god, it was because you betrayed him--"Dave, I won't let him hurt you. I want you to trust me and believe it."

You look up incredulously, sucking in a hoarse breath through your mouth and a mix of tears, saliva and vomit residue begins to dribble down your chin in streams. He heard you? Did he read your mind, or did you say that aloud? 

"Look at me, dude." His voice is pleading, and full of genuine concern. Not emotionless, not apathetic, not uncaring for the sake of a facade. You pick your gaze up and set it on that face, that gorgeously dangerous face that made you close your jaw and swallow the fluids that had built up in your mouth. Your throat aches, not just from the lump in it but from the first few seconds of just sobbing into the chest of your 'best bro'. The blue eyes he had grew unnaturally bright as he suddenly gave you a small smile. You stare back at him as calmly as you could possibly manage, but what he says burns into your mind.

"We won't ever hurt you."


End file.
